Kiss of Death

by Ashesdargor

Chapters links for this page: Part I • Part II • Part III

Part I

The Cyvan woods, though the humans undoubtedly called it by some other name, were calm beneath the midday sun, the peaceful noises of a living, breathing entity, the forest itself, carrying to those patient enough to stop and listen. Only the faintest rustle of the mid-level branches, like a zephyr through the forest, gives any indication of the passage of a stone giant.

She was not large for her kind, perhaps only seventy or eighty years old, and yet she was fully grown, and probably had been for nearly a decade. Her skin was a deep granite in tone, though her face and form were far from hard. Nearly ebony-gray eyes sparkled merrily in the uneven light of the sun through the green-black leaves that had earned the forest its elven name. Her breasts, were she human, would have on the smaller end of average size. At eleven feet, eight inches tall, they looked like nothing so much as a pair of mountains, swathed and supported by a well-shaped garment of an emerald, silk-like cloth, a few steel rings, and just a touch of leather for variety.

Her clothing was of elven make, four thin strips of leather attached to three steel rings and a buckle adorned her neck. Two of the steel rings each held a strip of emerald cloth, which flowing gently down her chest and over her breasts to a single ring over her navel. The other was attached to a leather strap that extended down her spine where, it too connected to a steel ring. The ring over her navel was again attached to twin strips of cloth, which extended each to a steel ring to which was attached an emerald green pair of panties that were attached in similar fashion to the leather strap down her spine. Finishing off the outfit was a sarong of identical coloration, tied loosely around her waist, it was the most substantial covering she wore.

The rest of her body was bare, smooth, shapely, arms with well-muscled biceps gently bent tree limbs with a practiced ease from her path, never pushing hard enough to break the supple yet delicate branches. Her long, attractively muscled legs as thick as the trunks of some trees made travel through the forest nearly effortless for her. She wore neither shoes nor sandals nor moccasins, for she needed none, her thick skin was impervious to the normal hazards of the road. Her straight, mud-colored hair fell midway down her back, held in a loose pony-tail by another strip of emerald green.

Two figures walked in her shadow. At less than half the height of the giantess, they were far less distinct. One, in particular, seemed almost elusive; hidden from peripheral vision if the head was turned away but slightly. The other was a young woman, no younger than sixteen or seventeen years old were she a human girl. She wore a garment identical to the one worn by the larger giantess, save it was of ruby hue. The addition of a cape of dark brown, and heavy boots, well suited to travel, did nothing to take away from the girl's figure.

At five feet, nine inches tall, her frame was a plethora of pleasing contrasts. Well shaped shoulders extended down to breasts that were just slightly more than a handful in size. Her flat, muscular abs extended down to an elfishly slim waist. Her hips were pleasantly well rounded, extending to strong, shapely legs. Her hip-length, honey-colored hair hid the only real trace that she was not human. Her ears were pointed slightly at the tips, and just a bit larger than they should be. Her face was exotic too, though not enough so to be completely alien. Her expressive hazel eyes were slanted only slightly. She wore a perfume that she always liked, though the third member of their group always said it smelled like lilacs and lavender, with just a touch of oranges for a bit of contrast.

He was an elf, and the shortest member of the group. At five foot four inches tall, he did not seem to possess the frailty that many associated with the elves. Though not large in any sense of the word, he was built powerfully, with well-toned muscles. His skin was tanned heavily from years spent under the sun, though no tattoo blemished his skin. His head was shaved bald, a personal preference that left him nothing to snag on branches. His body was covered a tunic of black, and leggings of a matching hue. His supple boots were of the darkest brown leather, as was the thick overcoat he wore to protect him from the claws of wild beasts. His right bracer was studded with small spikes. Though not exactly dangerous in combat, they accentuated the armor and, according to the man who'd made the armor, could catch or block blades so long as you were willing to risk losing your hand.

Eyes of the coldest, frozen blue stared from his face, the long cloak about his shoulders not so much as fluttering in the breeze. At his hips, clipped to his weapons belt, a sword and a dagger. On his back, a quiver of arrows and a longbow, unstrung to prevent unnecessary wear-and-tear.

Of the three travelers, he was in the worst mood. Even the gaunt, naturally grim-faced Stone Giant looked happier than he did. He had walked for hours in silence, while his companions talked quietly. Silence suited him just fine.

"You didn't have to come with me, you know," the wood elf said softly, his companions turning to look at him as he spoke.

"Don't be stupid, Kat," the half elf replied, her melodic voice carrying easily over the wind and sound of the little woodland creatures. She leaned towards the elf, her fingers brushing lightly over the leather covering his chest. Her lips met his, briefly, but passionately before she continued speaking. "Don't you dare think that I'd let you leave me behind you oaf! I swear, sometimes... you can be such an orc!"

The giantess chuckled at the statement, a husky, pleasing sound in the spring air. Katiael, the elf, couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I'm sorry, love," he said, returning her kiss, "It's just that... you might never be able to go back. I... didn't want to involve you in this. Either of you," he added, looking up at the giantess.

"Big brother," Solaliki, the giantess, said, her downward glance taking the little elf in full. "I fully expected you to leave last night. Why do you think I was waiting for you at the base of the tree? We know what we're doing and we're here by choice... I know this is hard for you, but that's no reason for you to face it alone."

His head dropped, as the elf pretended to study one of the bushes they were passing. He quickly wiped away his tears with the back of his hand before raising his eyes to the road ahead once more. "Thank you. Both of you," he said finally, when he trusted his voice enough to speak. "I don't know if I would have been able to stand this... alone."

* * * * *

Hours later, the three still had not cleared the woods when they stopped for the night. Though his companions were in an area they had never traveled, Katiael knew the forest's every tree... at least well enough to know where the best places to hide were, and where dangerous creatures might frequent. He slew a small deer with his bow, offering a prayer to Solonor Thelandira in thanks for the animal's noble sacrifice.

As he dressed the animal, and began to carry it back to camp, his fingers brushed yet again over the holy symbol hanging from his belt. Crafted of silver, and inlaid with onyx, twin eyes, blue eyes like his own, stared out from the black background. This symbol was the source of his grief in recent days. Fenmarel Mestarine's symbol, the god of the outcast, of those who isolated themselves from society willingly.

Or unwillingly. The message was a clear one: he was exiled, never to be allowed to return to his village, his home for one-hundred and twenty years. It was a blow that had hurt more than anything physical ever could have: it had taken a deep, perhaps even mortal stab at his spirit, but left his body intact.

"Fenmarel, give me strength," he whispered softy. He butchered the animal carefully, then, his companions watching silently as he set the carcass cooking. Trained as a ranger, Katiael knew well the ways of the forest, far better than either of his companions could ever hope to match.

They ate in silence, the largest portion of the meal going to Solaliki. Afterwards, they retired to bed, though Katiael refused to enter reverie. He kept watch in silence that night, as his companions slept, keeping their fire going and a keen eye to the woods about them. The last thing they needed was to have a bear stumble into their camp looking for a free meal. Despite his wariness, Katiael soon lost himself in thought.

A scent brought him back to his senses. It was faint, carried on a nearly-still wind. He made no move, though he longed to draw back his bowstring, an arrow already knocked and ready. Alert now, he became aware of what he could only describe as 'a presence', pressing in at him from all sides. He caught motion out of his peripheral vision, though he did not turn to look. Attack, he knew, would come soon enough.

"Awake, my friends," he whispered, almost silently. He knew it would not be loud enough to have the desired effect, "for we are beset by worgs. Nalasria Ruaiat."

The first attack started with a growl, but ended in a pathetic whimper. A large black wolf with glowing orange eyes, perhaps trying to intimidate its quarry, growled as it charged in for an attack. It would bite once and run, Katiael knew, unless he proved himself to be easy prey. He drew back his longbow, and fired, his arrow magically bursting into flames, his earlier whispered command words drawing out the bow's power. Though a hasty shot, the burning arrow caught the first worg in the breast, slipping between its ribs, it imbedded itself to the fletching in the beast's flesh. Whimpering in pain as the arrow seared its insides and started its fur aflame, the worg stumbled and tripped before attempting to retreat into the shadows. Its burning fur made it a clear target in the night, and the rest of its pack kept well clear.

"Solaliki!" he exclaimed loudly, calling out first to his giant sister, "Sivia!" He added, calling to his love. "Awake! Worgs!"

It was all he needed to say, his friends springing awake in an instant. They knew enough to sleep lightly in the wilds, though Solaliki seemed almost typically groggy, her mind still dulled by sleep. Three worgs charged Sivia as she stood, expecting her to be tired and an easy meal. Katiael pierced the leader's skin with an arrow of fire, pinning it's left front leg to it's chest. The worg stumbled as it tried to bring its weight down on a leg that simply refused to bend that far.

Sivia herself was far from helpless. Though unarmed, she hardly needed a weapon. Her training took over the moment she perceived herself to be in danger. One of a few willing to make the commitment, Sivia was a dedicated martial artist. Her first strike was defensive, slapping away the first worg's head with an open-palm strike.

Her next move was offensive, her body recoiling from the first worg as it tried to bite at her again. She drove her elbow into the second's skull with a resounding crack, sending the beast sprawling to the ground.

Katiael did not see the worg that bit him, though that did not make the pain any less real. Toothy jaws clamped about his right thigh. He briefly felt the sensation of flying until the ground smashed into his side. Fetid breath reached his nostrils as another worg closed in to deliver a killing blow to his throat. Katiael's hand stretched to his dagger, though he knew he wouldn't be fast enough.

Fortunately, he didn't need to be. The second worg yipped in surprise as Solaliki's massive fingers closed around it from both sides. The giantess hefted the evil wolf in both hands, and raised it well above her head. Known for their ability to throw rocks that might weigh up to three hundred pounds, the stone giantess had no problem giving the worg an impromptu flying lesson.

Katiael was not out of immediate danger, however. Words came unbidden to his lips as he struck out at the worg who's teeth were imbedded in his calf. Almost instinctively, he knew exactly how it would react... how each of its visible fellows would move as well. The wolf ducked its head instinctively as his dagger flashed in, just as he'd expected. Katiael put the sharp metal point into its eye and twisted, driving his blade into the evil creature's brain.

Whimpering softly, the worg collapsed into death, jaws still locked about his calf. Katiael took a moment to assess the situation as he sat up. His bow was out of his reach until he could free his trapped leg. His gaze fell to Sivia, worry flashing in his eyes as he saw a worg lunge, only to be struck in the throat by her fist. The two monsters harassing her had yet to get past her defenses.

With a yipping howl from the pack alpha, the worgs pulled back. The pack had tried to bite off more than it could swallow, Sivia and Solaliki had made that abundantly clear. They vanished into the underbrush as quietly as they'd come, the only evidence of their passing was the dead worg who's jaws were still locked about Katiael's calf, and the dirt that had been kicked around during the brief struggle.

His friends waited in silence as Katiael listened, his ears searching for the telltale sounds of a renewed attack. Only the gentle crackling and popping of their fire reached his ears, and gradually the nighttime forest sounds, hushed by the worg attack, began to return.

Only then did Katiael free his leg from the dead worg's jaws, and retrieve his bow to unstring it. Limping heavily on his wounded calf, he suffered the concerned looks of his companions in silence, neither confirming or assuaging their fears. He knelt carefully by the fire, his right knee raised high in the air as he probed the wound with his fingers.

There was no doubt as to its depth, the monstrous wolf had had more than enough time to savage his leg with it's teeth. "I'll need the bandages," he said softly, to which the giantess nodded. She turned and began rummaging through her rucksack, searching carefully for the medical supplies she'd had the foresight to pack.

Katiael carefully stripped off his boots, carefully inspecting the right one for damage and, finding it unharmed, setting them aside. He stripped away his pants, careful not to tear the right leg any more than it had been already, uncaring that it left him exposed to the air. Solaliki made no comment as she passed him the bandages and a water flask, she'd spent most of her life among elves, casual nudity was nothing she hadn't seen before, and she wasn't exactly a stranger to nudity or injury either.

Easily the best healer of the group, Katiael cleaned and bandaged his wound, though he knew he'd walk with a limp until he either saw a cleric or a healer. He carefully tied a second bandage farther up his leg to slow the flow of blood to the wound. It was tight, but no tourniquet... he was nowhere near crazy enough to tie one of those unless it was absolutely necessary.

Solaliki quietly played her stone flute as he bandaged his leg, touching the wound with her too-large fingers. The pain lessened as her bardic magic started the work of closing his wounds. He nodded, and smiled up at her in silent thanks as the giantess returned to her slumber.

Sivia's arms curled around him from behind, her lips brushing lightly against the back of his neck. Her left hand gently caressed his chest through his thick leathers, tracing the lines of his muscles from memory. The fingers of her right gently tugged and caressed his flaccid member as if arousing it from slumber. Her fingers lightly traced his length, and Katiael could easily picture the smile on her face as her deft fingers brought him to full arousal in moments.

"Sivia," he whispered softy, his tone questioning her action.

"Hush, kitten," she replied, her lips brushing lightly over his sensitive ears. Her tongue darted out briefly, gently tracing the pointed tips. "There is not enough left of the night for sleep, but that does not mean I am willing to waste it."

She deftly unbuttoned the single major clasp holding his leather armor in place, and he allowed her to strip him of it, leaving the elf in just his thin brown tunic and his bracers. Sivia's other hand continued to glide gently over his shaft, practiced fingers brushing over his length.

Her lips brushed lovingly over the back of his neck as he turned to face her, tossing away his bracers as he moved. She sighed in contentment as he embraced her, his arms caressing the skin her clothing left bare. He cupped her head with his hands, pressing her lips into a tender kiss, her arms stretched outward by the position, she lightly traced her fingers over his shoulders.

Katiael's hands traced lightly over Sivia's neck, finally finding the 'collar clasp' that held her garment in place. With a light snap, he released it, her outfit slipping lightly over her skin. Her left breast was exposed first, and her right close to being uncovered when the position in which he held her prevented the garment from slipping further.

Regretfully, he released her, but not before placing another soft kiss on her lips. With a few gentle nudges and caresses to help, her ensemble fell away completely to pool about her ankles, leaving her exposed in the cool night air. Sivia smiled at the longing in his eyes as his gaze traversed her form. She didn't believe she'd ever tire of that look, one of hunger and lust, pleasure, and promises he meant to fulfill. He'd seen her thus countless times, but his eyes never changed; he was still awed by a body he knew so well it might very well be his own.

She'd do anything for that look, she realized as their lips met again. Katiael's hands flowed over her skin, tracing the muscles in her shoulders and arms. His lips brushed lightly down her neck, and Katiael ran the fingers of his right hand down the valley between Sivia's breasts and over the flat planes of her stomach until it finally came to rest on the gentle swell of her hip.

Sivia hooked her foot behind Katiael's leg, and, delivering a sharp push to his chest, knocked him flat on his ass. "What's wrong, kitten?" she giggled, "I thought rangers were supposed to be as light on their feet as a cat."

"Damned martial artists," he mumbled, a trace of admiration in his voice. He grinned up at her as she idly forced his chest to the ground with her foot. "We may be light on our feet, my dear, but we fly like stones."

"It's because of all the rocks in your head, and the thickness of your skull, my dear," Sivia responded with mock seriousness. She crouched over him, her feet astride his hips. Her thin lips curled into a faint smile. Her right hand curled, almost possessively, around the side of his face as she positioned herself, her other hand brushing tenderly over his length. "At least your head isn't the only thing that's as hard as a stone."

Katiael's response was cut short as she lowered herself onto him, soft folds enveloping his member. She gasps softly as his hands glide up the silky skin of her legs, finally coming to rest at the base of her hips as she grinds down onto him. "Love, I'm..." he starts, but she silences him with a finger to his lips.

"I know," she said softly, around gasps and moans, "but this is for your benefit, not mine. You've been questioning your worth all day, but exile isn't the end of the world..."

"Hush," he replied quietly, his hips rising, grinding against hers as she descended. Sivia was working up a frenzied pace, her noble intentions pushed aside by her physical desires. Katiael's left hand snaked up her body to lightly cup one of her breasts, his other moving downward. He brushed his fingers over the sensitive nub of her clitoris, eliciting a moan from Sivia's gasping lips.

Katiael gasped again, the sensations soon overpowering his will to please. He exploded within her, filling her with his hot seed. The new warmth within her pushed Sivia over the edge. Exhausted, she collapsed on top of him, the sweat on their bodies soaking into his tunic.

* * * * *

Deep within the festering bowels of an ancient, rotting fortress, a man in dark robes strides through fog so thick you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Occasionally, through the impenetrable curls of white fog, a vague form makes itself seen around him. Even more rarely, the fog will part completely to reveal the moldering, shambling carcass of a zombie or skeleton shuffling through its programmed orders.

The man seemed unshaken by their presence... in fact, a discerning observer, were there one present, would undoubtedly be shocked to hear him greet each of the wandering dead by name and a slight nod of the head. About his feet, swathed in the thick fog, another proof of the man's nature humps along. Resembling nothing so much as a two foot, bald ferret with the horns of a ram protruding from its gaunt death-mask of a face. It had human-like hands on both front and rear legs. The little monster's skin, the color of mucous, was so thin that thick, purple veins could be clearly seen... as could the creature's muscle tissue if you really wanted to take a close look.

It was a quasit, a creature of chaos and flame. While only a 'minor' demon, it was still a highly dangerous creature from an entirely different frame of reference. That it, one of the physical embodiments of chaos and evil (albeit a small one), served this man as a familiar spoke much about his mental state.

"Zaath!" A loud, feminine voice called through the darkness and mist. "Zaath! Where in the name of Lorash are you? Damned mist, I can't see a damned thing..."

"Patience, Katrin," a second, more sultry voice said. "I've a feeling, he will find us... eventually."

" 'Eventually' is what worries me, Miranda. After all..." Katrin's tirade was interrupted by a brief, sharp scream. "Gods damned skeletons, always popping out of nowhere! One of these days, I'm going to snap and smash one of them to dust..."

"I would prefer you didn't," the robed man said, stepping close enough for both speakers to make him out. His pale gray robes blended to near perfection with the mist, giving the impression that he was little more than a pale, white head and a pair of hands.

Katrin screamed again before she managed to catch herself, and filled the space between them with a string of curses. "You creepy bastard! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?"

At Zaath's feet, the quasit snickered. It was saved from Katrin's wrath only because the thick fog hid it completely from view. It didn't stop her from glaring daggers in the little monster's general direction, however.

"You were looking for me?" Zaath asked softly, his quiet voice barely traveling the distance between them. His eyes traveled over his visitors, as they so often did, admiring the beauty of the two female worshipers of the god Lorash. At his request, both wore nothing but a silver amulet around their necks, which protected them from the confusing array of wards, spell guards, and the roving undead guardians that protected his home.

The first, Katrin, was the larger of the two. At five foot five inches tall, her muscular body was devoid of fat. She exercised regularly, he knew. A bandit for most of her twenty-three years, Katrin's body was covered in a myriad patchwork of scars, but beyond that, her blonde hair and blue eyes relegated her to merely 'average' appearance in Zaath's eyes... coupled with her love of pain, the thin elven necromancer preferred to simply avoid her.

Four inches shorter, the cleric of Lorash was more to his tastes. She was thin, and her body was covered in tattoos of black, violet, and red from head to toe, constricting lines of color against her creamy white skin provided a pleasing contrast that suited the evil god of war and destruction. Her short, black hair and vibrant green eyes were two other features he found especially attractive.

"Zaath, we wanted to know whether you've made any progress with..." Katrin started, glaring at him for some perceived slight.

He held up his hand to forestall her question. "I have not, my dear. Other duties call daily. New heroes to watch, new undead to give a second birth, towns to raid, encroaching orc-bands to annihilate. I cannot devote myself to this project of yours entirely, or the holdings I have fought so hard to take and maintain will rot away beneath me. Now, I did offer my services when your order came to me, indeed, it is one I am more than happy to champion..."

Zaath's eyes narrowed as he stared at Katrin, his unnerving blue-white eyes glowing in the shaded darkness, staring past skin and bone and physical tissue. She shuddered involuntarily, taking a half-step back for just long enough to hide herself from those fearful, penetrating eyes.

"... but the constant disruption of my research is something that I just cannot tolerate. I have many projects, I assure you, and yours is only one of them. I will get to it when I get to it, but no sooner."

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord," Miranda said quietly, offering the elf a bow. The fury in Zaath's eyes abated slightly as his gaze fell upon his most recent lover. "She means no disrespect, I assure you. That was not all we came to ask, my lord. We were wondering if we might be useful to you in some way... perhaps my order could help keep your lands maintained, and allow you to devote more time to our project?"

Zaath thought about that for a second, his quasit crawling randomly around his ankles. He ignored the pestilent green creature, his eyes carefully searching Miranda's own for any hint of duplicity. Satisfied, he nodded slowly. "That would be acceptable, on four small conditions. The first, no member of your order beyond you and Katrin shall enter my keep without my expressed permission."

"Acceptable," Miranda said softly as Katrin stepped back into Zaath's line of sight. "The others?"

"Second," Zaath started, his gaze shifting to Katrin. "You will supply yourselves with food... it should not be difficult, for my lands are fruitful, if a bit under-managed, for I have no major populations to sustain. Third, Katrin will be in charge of the encampment and any major movement of forces. I will not have some commander I do not know and who's fighting abilities I do not respect running rampant over my property."

"Finally," he said after Miranda had nodded in agreement and the downright shocked expression on Katrin's face had faded, "When this is over, Miranda, you will remain with me... as well as any members of your order willing to stay on and help me manage my lands."

Miranda bit her lip, her arms crossing nervously beneath her exposed breasts. Zaath waited until he was reasonably sure she was about to either reject or accept the offer before speaking again. "In return, I'm willing to make some promises. Any of your order who are slain will be raised as intelligent undead... wights, vampires, ghouls, mummies. Your order does not revile undead, so I see no conflict of interest. You may also keep any gold or equipment taken from passing heroes who seem intent to enter my keep."

Katrin nodded slowly at that, his entreaties so far had been directed to her. At this point, were she in charge, she would've given him her soul had he listed it as one of the conditions. It was a pity, Zaath mused, that it was Miranda he had to win over. "Also, I offer my future assistance to your order in the area of necromancy and, providing I find the conditions fair, my assistance is assured."

The necromancer reached out to the cleric, his hand cupping her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You don't have to decide right away, Miranda. I give you a week to commune with your order and make your decision. Binky," he said, his gaze shifting down to his familiar. "Please guide lady Miranda and lady Katrin back to their chambers. I'm afraid I must bid you ladies adieu, I have research that must be accomplished today or it will come to naught. Good day."

With that, the necromancer vanished into the protective mists of his keep.

Part II

"What do you think of him, Katrin?" Miranda asked as she threw herself onto her bed. Her arms stretched languidly behind her head, showing off her round, perky breasts.

"Still considering the offer he made you yesterday? Well, I think he's out of his mind," Katrin said from her position by the fireplace. She was feeding wood into the little blaze she'd started, happy for the warmth in the castle's chill air. "You're the one who's sleeping with him, so I guess I didn't pay much mind. He's the creepiest elf I've ever met... he is an elf, right; not a vampire or a dragon or a demon or something?"

"He's too warm to be one of the walking dead he surrounds himself with," Miranda responded, blushing faintly at the look Katrin gave her in reply. "He's not violent enough to be a demon either, and we've seen him around during the full moon so he's definitely not a Lycanthrope..."

"So, what's that leave us with?" Katrin asked nonchalantly while adding still another piece of wood to the fire.

Miranda shrugged. "Well, he's got the pointed ears of an elf... and the patience. He's got the most beautiful white hair, almost as long as he is tall... and, ah... he... outlasted me in bed."

Katrin twisted from her crouch to look at Miranda, her interest piqued suddenly. "Really, now? Well, everything about him screamed elf until you said that last part. Doesn't do much to change my assessment of him, he's still as insane as a follower of Dhanshea. He's good in bed, though, that's a plus. Pretty too, as far as men go. That thing he does with his eyes is downright creepy, though."

Satisfied that her fire would hold for a few hours before needing more wood, Katrin stood quietly and sauntered over to Miranda. Her arms curled, almost possessively, around the priestess as she sat down beside.

"For a little over two weeks, since you started sleeping with him, I've held off on questions," Katrin said, planting a light kiss on Miranda's full lips. "He outlasted you, you say? I want all of the juicy details, love!"

* * * * *

Katiael sighed softly as he walked through the small human village of Soll. The fetid odor of the manure of cows, horses, dogs, and a myriad other animals permeating the air. The acrid odor of chimney smoke reached his nostrils, and the elf resisted the urge to gag as an old woman herded a flock of sheep across the cobblestone road before them.

The elf could feel every sharp, jagged cobblestone through the soft soles of his boots. He did his best to quash the sense of disgust he felt deep down in his gut with a constant mental mantra of 'it's not my culture, I shouldn't judge it harshly', but was only partially successful.

At least the streets were mostly clear of garbage, he thought quietly. Trees dotted the village at regular intervals, perhaps the only thing he had to be thankful for. They were still in Elven lands, and the humans respected the ancient pact made long ago, even to the minds of the elves themselves.

Passersby eyed their party only slightly more carefully than they would a group of passing human strangers. To his eyes, they seemed less concerned about Solaliki's presence than his own. After all, stone giants were fairly common and enjoyed trading their statuary for exotic materials.

"Katiael, we're going shopping," Sivia said with a grin, giving his arm a slight tug to get his full attention. "Why don't you go find us an inn? Meet us in the main room. We'll find you when we're done."

"All right," the elf responded quietly, though Sivia had moved off so quickly he wasn't sure she'd heard him. Solaliki offered him an apologetic smile and a nod before she turned to follow Sivia through the bustling little community. Katiael sighed softly, letting his body come to rest against one of the trees that lined the road.

Katiael sighed again, enjoying the scratchy feel of the bark against the back of his neck. He turned his head, his gaze turning back the way he had come, and felt instantly sick to his stomach as he viewed the forests that had been his home. Katiael closed his eyes and turned away, crushing his doubt and homelessness under an emotionless facade.

"You look tired," a dulcet voice said, snapping Katiael's mind back to reality like a crack of a slave-master's whip. His eyes set about to the task of searching for the speaker, finally settling on a human woman. She was thin, and couldn't have been older than twenty five years. Her shoulder-length hair was a fiery hue, a shade he had never seen among the various elven communities, even at the Great Meet which drew groups from nearly two-hundred miles distance. He found her strangely attractive, her thick frame was well curved in all the places a young male could appreciate. She was dressed conservatively in a simple tunic of white, shapely legs covered by thin, brown trousers. She wore a thick cloak about her shoulders, but in the absence of rain it was pushed aside to dangle lifelessly over her left shoulder. From her belt, partially hidden by creases of her cloak, the head of a thick, heavy mace glinted in the warm sunlight.

He must have been left gaping, totally unable to cover his surprise at her approach. Her hand raised to her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Not used to being approached silently, I take it?" She asked with a smile that he found infectious. "Kedali's blessings be upon all good travelers, but I must wonder when you last rested."

"Four days and forty-three miles ago," he said quietly, trying to gauge this unknown woman's intent. "Before you ask another question, might I inquire as to who you are?"

"I'm Erika Sweetgrass," she replied with a slight bow. "Cleric and Druid of Kedali, the..."

"... human god of wilderness and travelers," Katiael finished, nodding slowly. "My name is Katiael, no surname, no titles. Just Katiael, a ranger in the service of none but myself."

"Succinct and to the point," she said, nodding in affirmation. "Just like a Ranger. I notice you're wearing Fenmarel Mestarine's holy symbol at your belt," she added, her gaze shifting down to his hip. "Chosen god?"

Katiael stared at her silently for a few moments before he finally responded. "Something like that. Elves don't worship a single god, we..."

"Pray to the whole pantheon," she said, cutting him off in the same way he had earlier. "I know. Anyway, Katiael, you look tired. If it's really been four days since you've last slept, please let me show you to the inn."

Nodding quietly, Katiael let the woman lead him away, through the well-traveled and bustling roads of the city of Soll.

* * * * *

A few minutes later Katiael found himself standing outside 'The Sign of the Blue Dragon' Inn, Erika standing at his side. The elf pushed open the thick oaken door, and was assaulted by a wave of music and the voices of people trying to speak above the bards as they enjoyed their supper. He strode forward quietly, but with a spring of pride in his step, and was surprised as conversation around him ground to a swift and unnerving halt.

The elf pressed onward, his expression kept carefully neutral. Gracefully, Katiael appropriated a chair at an empty table near the door. "So," Erika said softly, as she took a seat of her own across from Katiael. The young woman clasped her hands together, fingers enmeshed, and rested her chin on her thumbs. "What's an Elf doing in Soll?"

"Waiting for his friend and little sister to finish shopping," Katiael replied without hesitation. His lips quirked into a faint smirk. "Though, I have a feeling that's not what you meant."

"You are correct," Erika said in response, a bemused expression crossing her face. "Going to guess at my real meaning, or would you like me to elaborate?"

"What I'd like," the elf responded, "Is to know what you believe I am here for."

"Indeed?" She asked softly, aware that the number of men and women crowding the tavern was growing by the minute, that all who could hear were hanging on every word.

"All right," She finally replied, "I suppose it's only fair. You created quite a stir when you arrived, you know. The news has spread to everyone in town... most of the townspeople are afraid that one among them may have broken the treaty, cut more trees than was allowed by the treaty. They're worried that you're some enforcer sent by the Green Council."

"But you yourself don't think that is so?" asked Katiael as he dodged the question once again.

"I'm not sure," the woman responded truthfully, "Your have the bearing of a warrior, and also proclaim yourself to be a ranger... a protector of the wilderness. Yet at the same time..."

"I didn't go immediately to your lord's castle to demand reparations," the elf finished for her. "Or that I seem to have no interest in doing any kind of 'enforcing'?"

"That," she agreed, "and either you walk very slowly, or you're from one of the interior elven communities. The closest town we know of is less than a day's distance, the trading post where our two peoples meet. It would make more sense to leave from there, where there are plenty of supplies... and why send only one, and a Wood Elf to boot, when a High Elven phalanx would be much more persuasive?"

"In truth, Erika? I am just passing through Soll on my way farther south," Katiael said softly. "I have no wish to disrupt your town, and there is little need to for a spy to make sure you're upholding your end of the treaty. Yes, the elves do watch, but we also have faith in you."

"From what I've seen," he continued, "That faith is well placed. Your lands are well tended, your people and animals are well fed and both appear happy enough to me. Though my personal tastes don't include cities of any kind, human or elven or dwarven, this one is clean, and your buildings are well maintained. I don't think the Cyvian Elves could find better neighbors anywhere else on this planet.

Erika smiled as her eyes flowed over the crowd. His words had calmed the fears and suspicions of most, though she saw a few in the back who either hadn't heard, or simply refused to believe. "Your words ring true, good Ranger," she said. "I'm pleased to know that the Elves feel that way. My contact with your people has been limited to an occasional druid coming to learn from a member of our order, or to let us know they'll be in the area for some reason."

"Though," she continued, "You still have yet to tell me why you've decided to grace our town with your presence."

"My reasons are my own," Katiael replied with a grimace, "but since you've asked so nicely, I'll tell you what I can. My family has always been a bit eccentric, by elven standards. We all have a touch of wanderlust, I think. Mother and Father were always fond of travel. I think it's past time I took a good look at the world I live in... a passive role just doesn't appeal to me."

"An adventurer, then?" she asked rhetorically, "Good for you. I'm an adventurer myself... most of Kedali's servants are, or were at one point in their lives."

"Good day to you, sirrah," a squeaky, high-pitched voice said, "And to you, Lady Erika. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, Sir Gidash," Erika responded as Katiael turned to face the speaker. One of the vacant chairs scooted back a foot, pulled out by a short, thin-bodied creature. Kobolds possess a thin, reptilian build. They were a short race, with an elongated, almost dog-shaped head and a rat-like tail. Very intelligent, they were generally considered a blight by most human-like races because of their vicious, territorial nature.

Katiael found the image of a seated kobold, its shoulders barely visible above the top of the table, strangely humorous. He quickly crushed the urge to laugh, not wanting to insult this peculiar addition to the table.

"Dhanshea's blessing be upon you," the kobold said, bowing its head slightly in Katiael's direction. "I would shake your hand, but I'm afraid I'm not familiar with elven customs... and my hand would undoubtedly not reach far enough."

"Sir Gidash is a Paladin," Erika explained quietly, "In service to Dhanshea."

"Ah," the elf said softly. His gaze shifted to the Gidash. "One of Shimmerwing's tribe?" he asked politely.

"Indeed," the kobold replied. "You know of her?"

"By reputation only," Katiael replied truthfully. "Her work is known to us. Elves tend to keep tabs on their neighbors, even ones as ancient and powerful as Shimmerwing. You never know when a Dragon might need a little help, after all. Or a human city, for that matter."

"I have heard much," the kobold said with, what Katiael hoped was a grin, "about Elven songs and stories. Perhaps you could grace the tavern with one?"

The elf smiled faintly, "I'm afraid I didn't inherit much in the way of musical talent. Once my sister arrives, I'm certain she'd be more than willing, though... I suppose my meager skills will do until she gets done shopping."

* * * * *

Katiael's eyes glowed faintly blue as he stood between the tavern's light and the darkness outside. He enjoyed the night's cooling breeze as he leaned against the corner of a now-open wall. It had been an 'invention' by the bartender, allowing people easy access to a patio during the summer months. He explained that it was also convenient whenever a group of giants from the mountains came into town to trade. One of his rivals, he had mentioned, had giant sized rooms behind his in (conveniently full, of course, due to a caravan that had come in a few weeks before and had yet to leave), yet no easy way for the giants to order food or drink.

Katiael found the idea of a removable wall intriguing, though the novelty had begun to fade. People mulled about quietly, more carrying drink than food, though a fair number had both. Most were enraptured by Solaliki's husky voice and well-played harping. A pipe-smoking man passed close by, oblivious to the elf's presence in the darkness, and Katiael's hand rose instinctively to caress the bridge of his nose, warding off tears as the noxious smoke reached his eyes.

A soft hand touched his arm as an equally soft voice reached his ears. "You look sad, Katiael, yet your sister's song is one of joy. Is something wrong?"

"No, Erika," he replied softly. The crowd parted slightly, giving him a clear, if brief view of Sivia, dancing her heart out at Solaliki's feet. He smiled as his gaze shifted back to Erika. "I'm just tired, is all."

"Oh, I forgot completely!" she exclaimed gently. She tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the inn's entrance. "After four days without sleep, I'm surprised you can still walk. C'mon, we're going to get you into a bed."

"The inn's full," Katiael replied softly, "Little sister's singing brought in so many customers the innkeeper's been turning people away since the sun set."

Erika paused mid-step, an eyebrow quirking upwards in curiosity.

The elf shrugged. "I observe," he replied in answer to her unasked question, "I listen. I'm good at that, even if I couldn't sing well enough to save my life. Take that man over there," he said, gesturing with his chin, "the old balding man. His name's Anton Gryphonspire, he's a merchant who deals in exotic spices, and was the third person turned away from the inn.

The young woman bit her lip, "Do you mind sleeping in a chair?" she asked softly, "I'll share my room with you, and your woman friend... your 'sister' wouldn't fit inside, I'm afraid, but I'm sure that the innkeeper, Mr. McGreggor, is already working to prepare room in the stables for her to sleep."

"All right," he said after a time, "I accept your generous offer, Erika."

The two proceeded up the inn's stairs, Katiael follows a step or two behind his gracious hostess.

"You're sure you don't mind sleeping in a chair?" Erika asked softly as she pushed her door open. Katiael's eyes flowed over the room, which was well furnished. Undoubtedly an expensive place to spend a night. He smiled as his eyes fell upon the chair in question, a thick, soft-appearing armchair, aged enough to be comfortable, while at the same time new enough to be sturdy and not prone to breaking easily.

"It'll do fine," he replied softly.

Erika nodded. "Make yourself comfortable. I think your friends will be winding down soon. I'll go back down to tell your friends where you are, and bring up the young lady."

"Sivia," he said softly as Erika released his arm. "Her name's Sivia."

* * * * *

The being moved soundlessly between a pair close-formed stalagmites, not even the rasp of scales on stone belied her presence. In the distance, a twinkling caught the creature's eye, though fifty years of parental care had taught her nothing but caution in the face of strangeness, the serpent was stricken by an intense curiosity like the one that had drawn her out of her mother's den to begin with.

Still, this occurrence was completely unknown to her limited experience... light, visible light... she knew of some fungus that could produce a light-causing reaction when exposed to great heat... her mother had called the reaction 'fire', but she had only seen it once. Hissing silently to herself, the entity crept forward, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to investigate.

The serpent emerged from a passageway perhaps only a foot and a half wide, into perhaps the largest cavern she had ever seen. Rarely used wings stretched wide as soon as they cleared the narrow crevasse. Making less noise than most mice, she rested her head on a nearby rock to take in the scenery.

The cave's ceiling glittered and twinkled strangely with light, revealing the whole of the cavern to her. The entity's mind boggled at the enormity, for she could not see the far wall... miles and miles of cavern floor stretched out beneath her, complete with massive forests of strange mushrooms she had never seen before. Vague, smoky forms drifted by through the air as she observed, perhaps merely the smoke from the fires glowing in the cavern's roof. A massive, baleful white circle of light blazed down at her like the great eye of Tiamat. The slithering being cringed inwardly, though she realized there was naught she could do, for that great eye had seen her already.

"Perhaps this is Tiamat's great cavern?" she thought briefly, though dismissing that as pure fancy moments later. The hated Tiamat was said to live downward, her five-fold evil resting for eternity in the great fires in the center of all. Was this then, upwards and outwards, the dwelling place of the equally hated Bahamut?

The winged snake's body rippled and transformed as if a fluid, forelegs and rear now protruding from formerly unbroken scales. The dragon hissed in pleasure, overjoyed to be out of caves too small for her natural form. Wings unaccustomed to long flights stretched again as the entity launched itself skyward. An intense feeling of joy swelled in her breast as she realized she could fly as far as she wanted, without an opposite wall in sight to stop her, and miles of unexplored territory to see.

"Surely", she thought happily, "If this truly were Bahamut's cave, his great shimmering immenseness would not begrudge a curious young dragon a flight and a little sightseeing..."

Part III

Beacons of light and understanding blazed brightly in Katiael Ruaavaintae's mind as he rested. Minds upon minds met and mingled. Most stayed in small, community-sized groups... some traveled between, passing news far more quickly than even the fastest runner could manage. That it was all lost to him simply made Katiael's loneliness more acute, drove another nail into the coffin that was his exile. He could sense curiosity from most, they sensed the physical distance between himself and them. They knew he was in human lands, a lone mind lost and afraid.

A wave of representatives from every community sought him out, asking for knowledge... they hadn't felt him travel, weren't able to mark his progress. He denied them nothing, he was simply too tired. Most expressed pity about his situation as they left. They were the wood elves, his own people. Some expressed disgust, that a community could simply exile a member for such an outrageous. They asked, demanded, that he come live with them... the high elves, ever practical and forgiving. Most asked him to return to them, offered to take him in.

Katiael turned them all down... he was exiled, he had to respect the conditions, even if he didn't think them fair. 'Leave your people's lands'. He would travel south, he told them, and seek out other elven communities. The high elves backed off, respecting his decision, but letting him know the offer still stood.

Moments later, one of many minds that had recently fallen asleep sent out a beacon of terror, followed by a second, and then a third. They became the center of attention, and the community was soon flooded with activity.

Katiael gave a mental sigh, grateful for the distraction. He couldn't take another moment of their pity... he still had his pride, after all. His peace would not last, however. Worried minds sought him out, and soon he too understood.

* * * * *

Erika awoke slowly to a warm bed and better company than she'd been expecting. The half-elven girl, Sivia, placed a slow, tender kiss on Erika's lips. "It's about time you woke up. Sleep well?"

"Very," Erika said around a yawn. Sivia rolled away with a grin.

"I took the liberty of ordering some breakfast," Sivia said as she stood, "But I've eaten already. I was going to go check on Solaliki, but I didn't want you to wake up to an empty room."

"Thanks for the consideration," Erika replied softly. "Where's Katiael?"

Sivia shrugged. "He left shortly after I awoke. He does that sometimes... vanishes for a morning when he wants to think about something. I assume Solaliki will be able to spot him, wherever he is. She can generally find him, even when he'd rather not be found."

"Which is why you're going to check on Solaliki?" Erika asked with a smirk.

"We'll probably be moving on today," Sivia said with a shrug. "We're traveling South."

Erika frowned. "Why so soon? You've only just arrived in Soll. I still don't know why you're traveling at all."

"I'll have to let Katiael tell you his reasons," Sivia said, her thin lips curling upward into a smile, "but Solaliki and myself decided to go with him, perhaps on a whim, but I don't think he should be alone right now... and that's the most you'll pry from my lips on the subject. I should go make sure Solaliki's recovered from all that wine she drank last night."

With a blown kiss and the slightest toss of her head, Sivia stepped out, closing the door behind her with only the tiniest of squeaks from the hinges. Erika stood slowly and deliberately. Her gaze fell upon breakfast, which elicited a smile from her full lips. She bathed quickly, and pulled on her inner robes before stepping out onto the room's small balcony to take her meal.

Though she had originally complained about the positioning, being on the west side overlooking the street wasn't exactly conductive to waking up, the view did allow her to gauge the time based on the length building's shadow. Erika cursed softly, the morning was half gone. "How much wine did I drink last night?"

"I couldn't say," a soft voice said from above, "Thanks to your kind offer to let us share your room, I got to rest for most of the night."

Erika started, and craned her neck to look up past the roof's thick wooden facade. "Katiael, what are you doing up there?"

"Watching the skies to the northwest," he replied emotionlessly, his body still not revealed to Erika's probing eyes.

"Might I inquire as to why?" she asked in response, trying to lean back far enough to catch a glimpse of the elf without pitching over the balcony's railing in the process.

"Watching for the dragon," came his reply. Erika's eyebrow raised as she wondered if he was serious. "More specifically," he added, "I was watching for it until dawn. Right now, I'm watching to see if it's going to fly again, trying to figure out the most logical place for a dragon to lair in the area, and waiting for everyone to wake up so that I can tell you what was passed on to me last night."

Erika put down the piece of bread she'd been chewing, her appetite had vanished and the food she had eaten felt like a pile of frozen gravel. "By Kedali's well-worn boots! You're serious, aren't you?"

"Deadly serious," Katiael said softly. "The problem is, I don't know what subspecies the dragon belongs to. I've been trying to narrow it down since I first spotted it. I thought it must be a white or a silver at first," he said, leaning over the edge of the roof to look at Erika. She bit her lip as he tumbled over the side, his hands tightly gripped. The elf completely trusted in his own strength and agility, she realized... or perhaps he was simply insane.

"White or Silver, because the mountains to the northwest are icy and cold year round, which is advantageous for both species... but the dragon I saw was far too dark. I doubt very much that it's a black, they're not really fond of cold weather, and the nearest moor is almost two hundred and fifty miles south of here."

"So what then?" Erika asked softly, "Blue? Red? Brown? Or one of the goodly dragons?"

Katiael shook his head. "The sun's to the south... I wish I could say it was a metallic. If it was, I'd leave it alone, but... my gut says it's one of the chromats. It didn't shimmer in the light... it seemed almost ablative, in fact."

"And... we can strike brown dragons from the list completely," Erika reasoned quietly. They have no wings, and can't fly. So where's that leave us? Blue or Red?"

"Just Red or Green, I think. Blues are loath to leave the desert... they prefer sedentary lifestyles under the sand. Wait for something to come by, eat it. One of them would have to be insane to even look at a mountain of anything other than sand."

"Well," Erika whispered to herself, "Red or Green? ... this is not good."

"Worse than you imagine, I think." Katiael responded. "I'm an elf, my eyesight is keen... dragons' eyes are keener still. At the very best, he has seen Soll and it's defenses, and will be in a cautious mood. At the worst? He saw me watching, and will be on guard."

"Dun Adranys can hold, though, right? Surely seventy soldiers..."

"Your castle is a death-trap," Katiael hissed, "It's made of wood. If the dragon is a Red, those walls will last about four seconds..."

"... and a Green is too vicious to let itself be stopped for long by a wall of wood. So what are our options?"

"Well, I think we've got three," the elf said with a shrug. "First, we stay here and get eaten."

Erika's face soured, and she swatted lightly at the elf's shoulder. "That's definitely out. How about something more constructive?"

"It's settled then. We'll leave as soon as you're ready and I've told the others."

"You mean to flee?"

"Hardly," Katiael replied. "Though it is an option I didn't consider. I mean to talk and fight, if it comes to that. If the dragon is a Green, as I suspect it is... I've put this town in danger. There is nothing a Green Dragon likes eating more than an elf. I just hope he's not hungry."

* * * * *

A set of three wicked, four inch claws dug deeply into the bark of an elm, eliciting a hiss of displeasure from their owner. This cavern was so drastically different from the ones she knew, and yet, the dragon doubted she could find her way back. The light from the sky-fire was blinding, and painful enough to drive her from the sky early in the morning.

At least the strange mushrooms offered her some relief from the glare. Squinting from the shade, the dragon could only wait until her eyesight adjusted or darkness returned.

"Bahamut, I beg of you," The dragon, Molvayas, whispered into the wind, "forgive me for my trespass! Had only I known the terror of this place, I would have left it undisturbed!"

Too late for regrets, the dragon squeezed her eyes closed to ward off the tears she knew were forming. A mixture of unidentifiable chemicals, dragon's tears were fluid only as long as they remained on the dragon's eyes. A protection against the vilest of blinding airborne poisons and acids, most dragons were loath to spend their tears unless the situation was desperate.

Molvayas hissed softly as her stomach rumbled. She been eating sparingly over the past few months. Food just seemed more scarce the higher she had climbed through the tunnels... and even this strange cavern's mushroom grove was hard and unpalatable.

Which wasn't to say that there wasn't an abundance of animal life. She could smell the bats and the beasts, yet nearly blinded even with the comfort of shade-trees, none had yet been stupid enough to wander into the dragon's jaws. A pity, but she would persevere, for not even the unholy sphere of fire would be enough to deter the curiosity of Molvayas.

* * * * *

Zaath traced his fingers gently along a thin, black line. The necromancer's fingers explored every flourish and twist, though his attention was held elsewhere. Cold, dispassionate blue orbs stared intently into Miranda's own eyes. He watched her expression, ever the predator.

"Your war god has good taste," Zaath hissed, his tone both complimentary and derisive. "At least when it comes to tattoos and women."

His tone of voice should have set off warning bells in Miranda's mind, yet the response he had expected from her came regardless. "You should not speak badly of Lorash, Zaath. You, above all, should respect his work."

True to his nature, Zaath's slap came fast and hard, knocking the priestess sprawling against the wizard's night-stand. "Respect?" he growled, his voice dripping annoyance. "My tower was not built on respect, human. This is a place of contempt and apathy. My creations demean both death and life, just as your presence here demeans me. Your god has no hold here, and your order knows it."

Miranda wiped the slightest trickle of blood from her lips. She leaned heavily against Zaath's bed, totally unconcerned about her own nudity. She remained quiet as the necromancer's icy blue eyes bored into her soul, trying to calm raging emotions. This was a side of Zaath she hadn't yet encountered.

"If that's the way you feel, my lord," she said quietly, as soon as she found her voice, "Why not simply kill us and be done with it?"

"You mean 'why bother to humor our order and agree to let you come'?" Zaath replied, his tone mocking. "My reasons are mine alone, Miranda. They are not for you to fathom. I was advised to let you come, and I have never doubted the wisdom of my advisor."

The necromancer crouched beside his priestess, cupping her head in his hands. "You regret coming, I see. Do not bring up the issue of respect with me again, Miranda."

"As you wish, lord Zaath," came Miranda's quiet reply.

"Indeed," Zaath whispered, his lips brushing lightly against Miranda's ear. "As I wish. Until you die or I release you, now that you've agreed to stay."

The wizard pulled away, his face an emotionless mask, yet... Miranda thought she saw a trace of pity in his malevolent blue eyes. "Much as I would like to remain and drive my point home, as it were," he hissed, "I have other duties to which I must attend, and I believe you need time to adjust to your new situation."

Miranda's arms curled protectively around her bare chest as he turned away. "Do you expect me to call you 'master'?" she spat out vehemently.

"No," came the quiet reply as the necromancer stepped into the hallway, "But I expect you to obey, regardless."

The scraping thud of the thick stone door's closing cut off the young priestess's screams of rage.

* * * * *

Tahiss let a soft hiss escape his thin lips. Narrow, yellow eyes glanced about with an emotionless snake-like pupil. Each orb was deeply set into an elongated, wedge-shaped skull. His flesh was bare to the heat and stagnation of the swamp, yet the warmth pleased him. He stood silently... well, perhaps 'stood' was too strong a word for a human torso sprouting about mid-stomach from the trunk of the foot-thick body of a snake.

The Yuan-Ti left his arms crossed over his scaly green chest, his tongue flicking briefly to test the air, the humidity, and take in the surrounding scents. For once, he thought with some trepidation, he was grateful that he lacked a human head. The stench of death hung heavily in the air, mingling unpleasantly with the scent of disease, mold, and mildew.

His eyes narrowed as he once again scanned the faces of his congregation for signs of nausea. His head bobbed in a serpentine nod, and the serpent priest's arms uncrossed slowly. He was ready to begin.

"The hooded lord watch over us," he intoned softly.

The mixed group of Yuan-Ti before him responded as one in the old tongue, their voices hushed in reverence. "May all the heretics fall before his glorious venom."

To the back of the group, one of his assemblage glanced back nervously over her shoulder. The priest noted her cowardice coldly. Fear was a liability in Merrshaulk's eyes.

"In the name of Merrshaulk!" He shouted as loudly as his throat could manage. Almost as one, his congregation flinched and dropped to their knees in the muck. The Priest forced himself to believe that it was Merrshaulk, and not the massive, hulking thing behind the congregation that sent tremors of fear through their legs and brought them down in silence.

His leader, the High Priest of his church, had stumbled upon the creature some ten years past. Declaring it a sign of their god's glory, the High Priest Shalik had nonetheless made sure that he sent only the most junior members of the congregation, once every season change, to try to wake the great serpent and secure Merrshaulk's blessing.

It was a marvel of camouflage, this monster. Fully sixty feet long (it had been measured, though Tahiss knew not by who), it's body was covered in disgusting fungal growths, slimes, and molds of various kinds (many of which were dangerous, and more than a few had claimed lives of foolish animals in the past), and the ridges created by the gigantic monster's scales were almost bark-like. Lying still, asleep, it looked like a massive fallen tree. It's mouth was open, gaping, a cavernous maw filled with teeth that almost seemed to skew in random directions. It was a maw, he knew, that did not hold or tear flesh... it was a maw that mangled and caused the greatest amount of pain possible before death.

This, truly, was a creature the Yuan-Ti could respect. That, body wise, it looked very much like Tahiss himself was immaterial.

The priest drew his scimitar from the muck, leveling it at the woman he had picked out earlier. "You!" he yelled, drawing a fearful gasp from her. "You will administer the sacrifice!"

The pureblood's eyes widened, and she dipped her head into a bow. The priest forced himself to remain passive, not to hint that this task might not be the honor she believed it was. Somnolent though he had always heard the beast was upon waking, that had not stopped it from devouring two full groups of worshippers. They were unfaithful to Merrshaulk, according to Shalik. Tahiss did not feel it wise to disagree, even though one of those devoured, the only member of the clergy taken, had been his sister.

She had always been the slowest of the surviving members of his clutch. He bore her no sympathy, though he was careful to avoid her fate.

The woman he had chosen to deliver the offering strode forward confidently, pushing a thick-bodied Orc before her. Neither bound nor dominated mentally, the sacrifice was nonetheless as weak as a kitten. Poison flowed through the Orc's veins, debilitating him and dulling his wits.

The pureblood gave him a final shove, and took a step backwards as the sacrifice stumbled forward and lodged itself in the sleeping creature's mouth, blocking the airway with its bulk. The Yuan-ti had learned that Orcs made the best sacrifices... the larger the better.

The swamp fell still, and totally silent. Neither bird nor animal made a single noise when the windy deep-throated snores that constantly filled the air with their bass rumble, like soft distant thunder, came to an end.

The priest did not fail to note the creature's great orbs had opened, and that eyes the same sickly green as the surrounding flesh were coming into focus. With a great hacking cough, the beast spat the Orc forward, clearing it's airway and leaving the Orc's face and trunk dangling just outside the great serpent's jaws.

The Orc screamed pitifully in terror as the worm rose, great jaws closing tight about the struggling sacrifice, perforating it with teeth the size and shape of scimitars. Blood spattered Tahiss's awestruck congregation as the monster's jaws snapped open just long enough for it to swallow the piteous remains of the Orc whole.

Ancient and keenly-intelligent eyes that had seen the birth and death of many centuries studied Tahiss and his congregation with boredom and, perhaps, a degree of annoyance as well. A low, warning hiss issued from the beast's mouth, and the assembled Yuan-Ti waited with baited breath. Tahiss sighed audibly when it made no move to attack.

"Oh great..." he began, ready to beseech the beast for a blessing from his god.

"SILENCE!" The great serpent bellowed, sinister dark eyes flashing with anger. It continued loudly in a gutteral, sickly voice like a gale-force wind. "Why are you so intent on DISTURBING my repose?"

Tahiss's mouth dropped, an expressing of gaping wonder crossing his features. Never before had the beast spoken, never before had any priest been so honored.

"M... My lord," The priest began, bowing low even as his congregation prostrated themselves in supplication. "We seek your blessing, oh great one, for surely you are a representative of Merrshaulk..."

"Merrshaulk," The beast hissed, it's eyes flowing away from the priest as if in thought. Tahiss was just about to resume breathing when the twin olive orbs snapped back in line with his own. Gears turned in the great monster's head, for though it was wise with age, and brilliant by the standard of humans, it's mind was nothing compared to those of most dragons or even the Yuan-Ti priest who stood bravely before it.

"Who?" it demanded loudly, it's voice sending noticeable tremors through the water and earth in which it lay.

"Mer... Mershaulk?" The Yuan-Ti began with shock, "He is the god of..."

"Not your god, IDIOT!" The serpent chastised, one over-large claw coming down as if to pull it's great bulk forward, crushing the follower who had delivered the sacrifice beneath the mud. The foot lifted away, and not so much as a bubble escaped the woman's tomb. The congregation sat silent in shock, so swift had been her death. "Who is your high priest?"

"Shalik is the head of my order!" Tahiss screeched, bowing low until his body rested in the mud. "Great lord, please... we did not mean to disturb you. We will go, and take news of your displeasure to..."

"You will bring this, Shalik, to me," The monster growled, it's eyes blazing with demonic fury. "Do it, and I may resist the temptation to consume you all."

"Yes lord!" the Yuan-Ti shrieked, terror overcoming his piety at last. Tahiss scrambled away as fast as he could manage, but did not miss the sickening sounds coming from behind him. His congregation had only lost one to the beast's rage, but it lost far more to it's hunger as they tried to flee. By Mershaulk the worm was fast!